"Why, it's just this: Doctor Rugvie was called away out of the city on a case as soon as he 'd got through here, and meantime the young feller had come and gone. When the Doctor come back I told him what had been going on while he was away, and I give him the envelope. He told me he found her marriage certificate in it--but not to the man whose name was on the telegram. I never could make head nor tail of it." "Married--my mother married--" I repeated. I drew away from the woman's restraining arms and slipping to my knees beside her, buried my face in her lap and began to sob. I could not help it. I was broken for the time both physically and mentally by the force of my unpent emotion. The woman laid her hand protectingly, tenderly on my quivering shoulders, and waited. She must have seen spring freshets before, many a one during the past thirty years, and have known both their benefit and injury to the human soul. Gradually I regained my control. "Oh, you don't know what this means to me!" I exclaimed, lifting my face swollen with weeping to the kindly one that looked down into mine. "You don't know what this means to me--it has lifted so much, so much--has let in so much light just at a time when I needed it so--when everything looked so black. Sometime I will tell you; but now I want to know when, where, how I can get hold of that marriage certificate. It belongs to me--to me." I rose with an energy that surprised the woman and, stooping, took her face between my hands and kissed her. I smiled down into that face. She sat speechless. I smiled again. She passed her hand over her eyes as if trying to clear her mind of confusing ideas. I spoke again to her: "The tempest is over; why should n't we look for a bright to-morrow?" I could hear the vibrant note of a new hope in my voice. The woman heard it too. She continued to stare at me. I drew up my chair to hers and, laying my hand on her knee, said persuasively: "Now, let's talk; and let me ask some questions." "To be sure; to be sure," the woman replied. I know she was wondering what would be the next move on the part of her applicant. "Don't you want to know my name?" I said. "That's rather an important matter when you take a new position; and you said the place was mine, didn't you?" The woman smiled indulgently. "To be sure it's yours; and what is your name?" she asked, frankly curious at last. "Marcia Farrell, but I took my great-grandmother's maiden name. There are none of the family left; I 'm the last." "What was you christened?" "I never was christened. And what is your name?" "Delia Beaseley." "And your daughter's?" "Jane." "And when does Doctor Rugvie return?" "The last of November. You want that certificate?" "I must have it; it is mine by right." I spoke with decision.